My Dream Vacation

I escape to a place with a coast Or maybe two, three or four. Somewhere where history runs in the streets In the bricks of old houses Or the uneven cobblestone beneath my feet. A smell wafts through the air Something like cooked tomato sauce And freshly spun pasta. Where the flower petals are as soft as clouds And more colorful than rare crystals Dug up from the sand. Every sunset is more beautiful than the last And I never want this place to end.